


& lift him back up again

by piratekelly



Series: what a beautiful mess this is [4]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Family Feels, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 19:15:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10342800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piratekelly/pseuds/piratekelly
Summary: You’d think that after all this time, Steve would be used to the emptiness of grief.You’d be wrong.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This has been an interesting project. It's sat on my gdocs for months because, like Steve, I was mourning the loss of someone I loved dearly. So this is me and Steve working through that, I guess.
> 
> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

**day 1**

 

“Steve,” Danny murmurs, one hand resting on Steve’s shoulder, gently nudging him to turn onto his back in their bed. “Babe, you gotta get up. You got -- you got stuff to take care of today.”

 

He’s silent as he stares into Danny’s eyes. He’s always found such comfort there, in eyes blue like the ocean on a perfect, sunny day, but today they lack their usual warmth, eyelids drooping from a night of interrupted sleep. Steve aches for it, longs for moments just two days ago when one look into Danny’s eyes had his heart pounding against his chest because he loves this man so  _ much  _ that it’s physically painful sometimes. But now his heart pounds for a different reason: Deb is gone, and Danny is still in bed with him despite the fact that he should be at work right now, presumably to make sure that Steve at least pretends to be a functioning human being today.

 

“Or,” Steve suggests, shrugging under Danny’s arm so that his head rests on his partner’s chest. “We could just stay in bed all day and just… forget, for a while.”

 

Danny sighs, cards his fingers through the short hairs at the base of Steve’s skull, leans down and kisses him on top of his head, his temple, his cheek before tipping Steve’s head up to press a soft kiss to his lips. It makes Steve want to cry, the softness Danny only usually shows him after a particularly hard case is finally wrapped up, being given to him so freely in a time where he wants nothing but for this to be like any other morning. He wants to go downstairs and find Deb drinking coffee at the kitchen island, sipping from the same chipped mug she used every time she visited; he wants to hear Joan laughing as Gracie plays with her in the living room while Mary burns breakfast worse than Danny ever possibly could. But Steve has always wanted things he knew he could never have. Why should this be any different?

 

“On any given Saturday, I would advocate for exactly that,” Danny replies, pulling him closer. Steve closes his eyes and listens to the steady beat of Danny’s heart. “But today, Mary needs you, and I think you need her a little bit, too.” 

 

He’s right, Steve admits to himself. Danny’s always right about this stuff. For all that Steve’s learned since going into the Reserves, he’s still fairly emotionally constipated on a good day, and when things like this happens, he tends to shut down completely until he’s in a better position to deal with it. Danny won’t allow that, though; there are too many things left to be done, children to reassure, and a sister he needs to pull up as much as she needs to do the same for him.

 

Steve hates when Danny’s right. He doesn’t realize he’s said as much until he feels the rumblings of a chuckle in Danny’s chest.

 

“I know, babe,” Danny says, gently extricating himself from Steve’s grip so that he can get out of bed. “So go shower. Get dressed. Go through the motions on auto-pilot if you must, but do what needs doing. I’ll be here when you come home.”

 

With that, Danny pads out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Steve sighs, throwing an arm over his eyes, trying to suppress the tears he knows will be streaming down the side of his face in the next few seconds. He hasn’t cried this much since Freddy died; he’d nearly forgotten how much it takes out of him, physically, mentally, and emotionally.

 

He gets up anyway, stumbling into the bathroom and turning the knob all the way over in the shower. The room fills with steam; any other day this would be soothing, but today it makes him aware of how dehydrated he is. His eyes are gritty, swollen and sore from the multiple times he woke up crying, hoping that it had all just been a terrible nightmare, that Deb was just sleeping peacefully down the hall. But it hadn’t been, and she wasn’t, and Steve had cried into Danny’s chest until he managed to fall back into a fitful sleep, tossing and turning until exhaustion finally won out in the wee hours of the morning.

 

His shower is quick, methodical, and as he’s drying off he picks out some of his more comfortable clothes, knowing full well he won’t be going into the office today. He looks like a mess anyway, with two days of dark stubble, bags under his eyes, and shoulders sagging like the weight of the world had finally won out and dragged him down with it. A white t-shirt and blue board shorts are good enough for a man who feels and looks as miserable as he does.

 

He looks longingly at his bed, wanting nothing more than to crawl back in it and shut the world out for a while, but he sighs and grabs his keys. Danny’s right. He has to get through this first, and then he can fall apart.

 

&&&&

 

**Day 12**

 

Danny and Steve fly to California to deal with what’s left of Deb’s belongings while Mary stays in their house with Joan and Grace. They only plan to be gone two days; Deb, bless her heart, had had all of her affairs in order long before she passed, probably had it all worked out right after she was diagnosed, and Steve is quietly thankful for that. Her small house will be sold, her clothes donated to women’s shelters around the county, and her belongings put in storage until he or Mary figure out what to do with them next. 

 

Steve mostly wants closure, wants to find a few knick-knacks around the house he can bring back to Hawaii to remember her by, bring her records and her photo albums and other items that were important to her before they pack everything else up and call the movers. He picks up a few things he thinks Mary would want, either for herself or for Joan, for when she’s older and wants to hear stories of the woman they all loved so much.

 

He sees pictures of him and Mary as kids hanging on the walls of the spare room, the one that had been taken in the days following their arrival on the mainland away after their mom died. There’s one of the day Mary got stung by a jellyfish at the beach, face scrunched up in pain; another of he and Deb standing side by side in the sunlight the day he’d graduated from the Academy. There are a few scattered in between, worn with time and touch alike, that he doesn’t remember taking with any clarity, but feels the warmth of these captured, stolen moments right down to his core.

 

His favorite, though, sits on the nightstand in a dark brown frame: one night when he was 17, Deb had gotten an offer for a gig she couldn’t refused, so she packed up Mary and Steve and brought them with. One of the band members had fallen ill halfway through the set, and rather than cutting everything short, Deb had called him up to the stage and handed over the man’s guitar. Steve was no expert, but he was good enough that he could keep up with the rest of them, fumbling his way through song after song until the clock hit 11 and it was all over.

 

It was the last time he’d play the guitar in public.

 

Steve picks up the frame, smiling fondly at the picture inside. He gently places it between his chest and bicep, close to his heart, using both hands to carry the small bags of things they’ll be taking back. He should be used to this, after all this time, only having memories, pictures, of the people he’s loved to get him through.  Deb was the last of his extended family. There’s nothing left now but he and Mary and Joan.

 

As he locks the door behind him, he takes a deep breath and reminds himself that this picture and the sound of her laugh carrying on the wind will have to be enough.

 

&&&&

 

**day 23**

 

He’s in the kitchen one night, poring over case files while Danny finishes up whatever it is he’s doing at the office, when he breaks down for the first time.

 

It had been innocent enough, just reaching into the cabinet for a mug to pour his freshly brewed coffee in, but one mug catches on another as he’s pulling it out and before he can react, it’s already broken on the floor with a loud crash. He does a double take, sinking down to the floor on his hands and knees and examines the damage, fighting off the tightness in his chest. Deb’s mug is broken, lying in pieces on his kitchen floor, and the only thing Steve can do is cry.

 

They’re horrible, the sounds ripping from his chest - deep, guttural sobs as he fails to hold himself together, leaning back against the cabinets with his head in his hands, all because of a mug. He feels stupid, crying over something so silly, but it had been  _ hers _ , and somehow that sets him off. He’s unable to stop the flow of tears, but his sobs quiet to a more manageable volume. He’ll pull himself together soon, but this is, he’s fairly certain, what Danny’s been waiting on these last weeks. 

 

“Steve?” 

 

He looks up and for the life of him he can’t make out any defining features of Danny’s person. His tears are too thick, or coming too quickly, or both, he doesn’t fucking know anymore, all he can do is reach out and pull Danny down to the floor with him. His partner sweeps small pieces of porcelain out of the way - is Steve sitting on any? - before sitting next to him, pulling Steve into his arms and against his chest, carding his fingers through Steve’s hair as he works through another round of his unexpected crying jag. Danny does his best to calm him, using all the tricks he’s learned over the years they’ve known each other to help slow down this emotional explosion, but even the quiet sound of Danny whispering in his ear that it’s okay, to let it out, he’s here and he’ll catch him any time he falls, does nothing to stem the flow.

 

It feels like it takes forever - and at the rate time has been passing for him, it probably  _ has  _ \- but eventually he stops crying long enough to pull Danny closer, to close his eyes and concentrate on the steady thump of Danny’s heart under warm flesh, finding comfort in its cadence. He matches his breathing to the beat, one breath in for four beats, another four beats on the exhale. It can’t offer him the kind of comfort he needs, not yet, but it’s more than he was capable of accepting even an hour ago.

 

“You know,” Danny says, resting his chin on top of Steve’s head. “I kind of thought you’d hold out a little longer on the breakdown.”

 

Steve laughs. He’s so caught off guard by the comment, and he knows he’s not in a rational place mentally anyway, but he also knows that under any other circumstance it would probably be true. 

 

“I’m losing my touch,” he replies, pulling himself even closer to Danny’s embrace.

 

“No,” Danny murmurs, resting his hand on Steve’s cheek, gently pulling him up so that they’re eye to eye. “You’re dealing with loss. That’s not the same thing.”

 

The silence after that is long, but not uncomfortable. Steve, as he’s said many times before, is not good at dealing with this. Danny has been immeasurably helpful, as he always is when people are in need. It’s what makes him a great cop, and an even better father. It’s what makes him good for Steve, and he is so, so grateful that he gets to reap the benefits of being loved by this man for as long as he can. For tonight, that means sitting on the kitchen floor, surrounded by broken porcelain and pieces of his heart, and letting himself feel all that he’s been bottling up for the last month. 

 

“You gonna be alright?”

 

“No,” Steve sighs, taking one last moment of comfort before he has to pull himself off the floor. “But I think I will be.”

 

&&&&   
  


**day 24**

 

After that, he mostly goes through the motions: get up, shower, go to work, maybe shoot a few people, maybe cause an explosion or two, wrap up the paperwork, go home, maybe eat dinner, maybe not, and fall face first into bed before starting it all over again the next morning. As much as Danny worries about him, and Steve knows that he does, the routine does help. It makes him feel like he’s getting somewhere, gives him some sort of timetable to move by that tells him that with every passing day he is getting better, that he is dealing, that life doesn’t have to be sad all the time even when it feels like that’s all there is.

 

Despite his aching heart, he keeps going.

 

&&&&

 

**from then on...**

 

He and Grace go see the dolphins. He and Kono teach her how to surf, under Danny’s watchful eye, of course. They have cookouts and bust up drug rings and child trafficking and gun running and then go to Side Street and get a round of beers to unwind. Eventually, Steve’s hurt is once again a physical one brought on by the nature of his job, and not so much emotional. He still feels her loss, some days more acutely than others, but he’s dealing in the best way he knows how. He still wants to call her when Joan learns something new and has to share it with  _ everyone _ ; wants to ask her how he should approach Danny about Grace having a more permanent place at his home, maybe a room that’s all hers, maybe one in a home that he and Danny share permanently. He wants her opinion on everything, if only to be able to hear the sound of her voice again. 

 

But the beauty of the human body is that all he has to do is close his eyes and focus, let his sense memory do the work, and in a single moment it’s like she never left. 

 

He still hears her voice in the kitchen in the morning, humming to herself as she made bacon and eggs for breakfast. She’d swing and sway in front of the stove in her purple bathrobe, spatula in hand as she sang about flying to the moon and playing among the stars. He still smells her favorite perfume, floral and earthy and simple, every time he walks past the guest bathroom. He hears her laugh floating on the wind when he goes out to Diamond Head, walking the trail he and Mary had taken after she’d been cremated, where they left her ashes to become one with the place she loved most: the island where all the love in her heart still lived.

 

The photos he took from her house have a special place in his living room, where he can see them right when he walks in the door after coming home from a long day chasing robbers across the island. Every time, just for a moment, he imagines her welcoming him home, telling him to hit the shower before sitting down for dinner. He imagines her tsking at him when he comes home with another cut, bruise, pulled muscle, anything that means he’s in less than perfect condition. He’ll smile, kiss her on the cheek, and do as he’s told. Everything, for those few minutes in his imagination, is perfect.

 

The illusion will eventually fade away, and the ache will return, but it’s never overwhelming, never all-encompassing like it was in those first few weeks after her passing. He doesn’t wake up in the morning having forgotten that she’s gone, not anymore. Instead, he lays in bed, hands behind his head, and talks to her while he watches the ceiling fan spin slowly up above. He tells her about Danny, and how they’re trying to sell his house so that he and Grace can move in with Steve; tells her all about his cases, hoping that maybe if he works it out out loud then maybe a hint will appear to him; he tells her how much he wishes he could have spent more time with her, that he shouldn’t have taken any of his frustration with his father out on her. He swears he can hear her forgive him, and tell him that he has the chance to make better choices with the family he has now. That, in the end, we are never truly on this journey alone.

 

Maybe now he believes it.

 

&&&&

 

Five months, nearly six, and everything and nothing has changed.

 

They’ve continued with their usual routine of going to work, one or both of them picking up Grace and taking her back to headquarters where she works on homework until their shift is over, they have dinner together at the table, they play games or watch movies or goof around until it’s time for bed, and then it all starts over again the next day. It’s been good for all of them, but particularly for Steve, who has continued to thrive with a set schedule of places to be, people to see, and expectations to be met. The gaping hole in his chest from where Deb used to be is healing bit by bit with every passing day, and he’s able to think of her more fondly now, without the pain of missing her creeping in. It’s… good. Things are looking up, and at this point, that’s pretty much all he can ask for.

 

Grace is asleep upstairs, starfished across her sheets after a long day of painting what is now her very own room in the house they all share together. Danny is sitting beside him, to his left, in the adirondack chairs that have not moved since the day they first met. Steve is holding a beer with his right hand, fingers barely wrapped around the neck of the bottle, slick with condensation, and holding Danny’s hand with the other. They’re staring out across the ocean, watching the sun set below the horizon, and for the first time in a while, Steve feels whole again, and he smiles.

 

“Something funny, babe?” 

 

He hears it then, the gentle sound of brass instruments playing somewhere off in the distance, a tune he would know anywhere. One of her favorites, especially in the morning, the gentle lilt of her voice pulling him to wakefulness.

 

_ In other words… hold my hand _

 

“Just your face,” he says. He taps his toe to the steady beat of the bass line, humming quietly to himself.

 

_ In other words, baby, kiss me _

 

“Just your face,” Danny says, voice pitched high and mocking. “Just your face, the man’s got jokes tonight. I’ll have you know that my face is the best face you’re ever gonna have.”

 

_ You are all I long for  
_ _ All I worship and adore _

 

Steve looks at him then, taking him in, all soft lines and stubble, shades of orange and pink and purple making his skin look more than than it is. He’s beautiful, Steve thinks, and I’m so lucky he picked me.

 

_ In other words, please be true _

 

The days are long, and they are hard, and they are full of decisions that need to be made, both good and bad, but they have each other. They have Grace, and the rest of the team, and they will take everything one day at a time. Steve’s good with one day at a time. He’s become less of a big picture man and now focuses more on the little things, like sitting here with someone he carries in his heart, watching the sun set, closing the chapter on another day, with only happiness in his chest.

 

“You really do,” Steve replies, squeezing Danny’s hand.

 

Danny looks him over for a second, suspicion clear on his face. After a long moment he must decide that further exploration isn’t warranted, and instead takes a swig of his beer. “Schmuck.”

 

__ In other words  
_ In other words  
_ __ In other words

_ I love you. _

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on the tumblrs: piratefalls
> 
> Lyrics are from "Fly Me to the Moon" performed by Frank Sinatra.


End file.
